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Back Little Universes Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

And what happens to Hannah? Based on my extensive research, a traumatic event can trigger a relapse into addictive behavior. No one in the family knows about Nah’s addiction—Mom said that was my sister’s story to tell, when she was ready. She said it wouldn’t be fair to Nah, for her to be seen as this one thing. And that’s true, but now I am the only Winters who knows how to check her pupils.

What if the end of my parents’ lives is also, in a way, the end of ours?

When the onions are soft, I add the garlic, and the sizzle sounds like hope. We wait until the kitchen fills with its meaty scent, and then we pour all the other stuff into the pot, plus Mom’s bell jar mix of cumin, chili powder, garlic salt, pepper, oregano. Hannah reaches up and grabs Mom’s secret ingredient—coffee. She sprinkles it over the top. Then she looks over at me, holding the open jar.

“You want a cup?” she asks.

“Okay.”

I stir the chili while Nah takes down the French press, Mom’s favorite way of drinking it. When the coffee’s ready, we pull ourselves onto the counter and watch the chili simmer. There’s a draft in the window behind us and cold ocean air slips up my spine.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Hannah says.

I take her hand in mine. Her nails are covered in chipped blue polish.

“Yeah,” I say, soft.

I keep my hand in hers as silent sobs roll through the body beside mine, the one my parents made.

i will never see them again.

Windowsill in Bedroom

4302 Seaview Lane

Venice, CA

8

Hannah

The universe didn’t uphold its end of the bargain, so I’m not upholding mine.

That’s why I’ve been in my room all day, floating on the hooked rug that Mom found at a garage sale in the Valley.

There’s a crack in my ceiling. I never knew that.

Outside my door, there are voices. Mae, Papa, Gram. Doors open and shut. A phone rings. On the street, cars drive by. A skateboard rolls. A dog barks. Somewhere at UCLA, Micah is riding his bike to class. He has texted me ten times, all variations on: I love you. I’ll be there soon.

That is all in the world. I am not in the world. I am somewhere else. I think I’ll stay here for a while.

It’s time for another pill. I know this because I can feel my body again. I can feel the knife in my heart and the hollowness in my belly. I know it’s time for another pill because I can remember.

Everything.